



,>...^ .-^ 



y 



N 




Songs From Puget Sea. 



.. BY,. 



HERBERT BASHFORD, 




san francisco : 

The Whitaker & Ray Company, 

(incorporated.) 

189S. 

L. 






'J-> ,! 



COPYEI&HTED 
BY 

HERBERT BASHFORD, 

1S98. 



r^rineFtEssECEj;:^-,'* 



tf v-.^ 








NOTE. 

For the kind permission to reprint many of the 
poems contained in this volume I am indebted to 
the following publications: The Independent, 
Critic, Frank Leslie's Weekly, Chautauquan, Over- 
land, Munsey, Godey Co., Pilot, Arena, Peterson, 
Woman's Home Companion, and Midland 

Monthly. 

K. B. 



TO ALICE. 



CONTENTS. 

Sunrise 9 

The Sea of the North 10 

The Arid Lands 12 

On the Cliff 13 

An Old Garden 14 

Midwinter in the Northwest 15 

The Cougar 16 

After the Snowstorm 17 

Autumn Days 18 

A Western Sunset 20 

The Poet 22 

Dead Man's Island : Puget Sound 23 

Mid-summer 24 

To a Bee 26 

Storm in the Forest 27 

The Seagull 29 

vSummer Hours 30 

Evening on the Ranch 32 

In May 33 

The Song of the Lark 34 

November 35 

The Deserted Cabin . 36 

The Blue Heron 37 

Where Solitude Abides 38 

December . 39 

Copalis . . . 40 

In January 43 

The Wreck of the Ferndale 44 

Autumn Song 48 

The Woods of the West 49 

The Dawn of Christmas Day 50 

Long Ago 52 

Morning - 55 

The Derelict 56 

Love and I 58 



SONNETS. 

One Autumn Night 6i 

By the Pacific 62 

A Picture 63 

The Cyclone 64 

Night in Camp 65 

Morning in Camp 66 

Alone upon the Mountain Side 67 

Dawn on Puget Sound 68 

Noon on Puget Sound 69 

Evening on Puget Sound 70 

The Pioneer 71 

To the Sea 72 

If She Should Die 73 

Cuba, 1897 74 

Since She is Gone 75 

The Silent Woods 76 

1 he Fall of the Fir 77 

The Fishermen: Puget Sound 78 

June 79 

Haunted 80 

On the Marsh , 81 

QUATRAINS. 

Mt. Rainier 85 

Custer 86 

Moonrise 87 

A Sea Picture 88 

Creeds 89 

The West Shore 90 

The Pacific 91 

Butterflies .92 

The Thrush 93 

Along Shore . . 94 

In a Western Forest 95 

At a Child's Grave 96 

The Birth of the Red Rose 97 

In the Garden 98 

October 99 

Sunset 100 



Sunrise^ 



The sun climbs up with burning feet, 
The sea is now a tossing sheet 
Fire-fringed where shore and waters meet. 

Upon the crest of yonder height 
Each tall, dead cedar, slim and white, 
Is but a lifted lance of light. 



The Sea of the North 



Along the lone shore cf the northland the wild waves 
incessantly thunder; 
White-helmeted warriors are they that wrestle and 
roar on the reef; 
So full of deep woe is the voice of these turbulent 
waters, I wonder 
If this mourning sea of the North is not the gray 
mother of Grief. 

The bold, frowning headlands loom dim through the 
spray of the seas that are dashing 
High over the foam-covered ledges and brown, rug- 
ged rocks of the coast; 
I see the plumed legions ride landward and list to their 
terrible crashing, 
Their furious tumult and clamor — the wail of a down- 
trodden host! 

At the base of the beetling cliflf the caverns are moan- 
ing and sobbing, 
And the great flakes of froth from the waves are as 
white as the gay gull that flees 
Where the far-reaching billows are wildest; and, ah,, 
how my pulses are throbbing 
As I view the strong sweep of the surf and the mar- 
velous shatter of seas! 

10 



But the surges that fawn at my feet have a sound like a 
serpent's fierce hisses, 
And though the pale lips of the breakers are pressed 
to the stone as they climb 
Toward the crest of the crag, yet I know, in spite of 
your passionate kisses, 
Your heart ever hungers for horro*", oh, hoar-locked 
companion of Time! 



11 



The Arid Lands. 



These lands are clothed in burning weather, 
These parched lands pant for God's cool rain; 

I look away where strike together 
The burnished sky and barren plain. 

I look away; no green thing gladdens 
My weary eye — no flower, no tree, 

Naught save the earth, the sage-brush saddens 
The scorched, gray earth that sickens me. 

Oh, for the pines, where the sweet wind revels! 

The ringing laugh of the crystal creek! 
Alas, gaunt Hunger haunts these levels, 

And Thirst goes wandering wan and weak. 

No shadow falls where swiftly passes 

The gray coyote's noiseless feet. 
No song of bird, no hint of grasses — 

The home of Silence and of Heat! 



12 



On the Cliff- 



Pushes the bold, strong tide high over the sheer, rough 
ledges, 
Stand the brave seas on the rocks all red with the 
sun's parting glow, 
Cold, fine spray in the air fast dimming the crag's sharp 
edges, 
Lifting like smoke from the boom of the great wave- 
cannon below. 

Rises the calm, fair moon, white ruler of turbulent 
ocean. 
Bends her fair form in response to that far-sounding 
thunder of praise. 
Steps, silver-sandaled, where seas writhe in wildest 
commotion, 
Smiles at the foam-shrouded waters that follow her 
down through the days. 

Safe are we here on the clif¥; but ah! that mad shatter 
and crashing 
Brings the chill tremor of fear, the short, hard, shud- 
dering breath. 
Look, oh, God, look beneath us! How fearful the 
tumult, the lashing — 
Lashing of crazed, hungry billows that clamor for 
terror and death. 



13 



An Old Garden. 



The old, gray fence is wrapped in vines 
While here and there a creeper trails 

A burning lash that twists and twines 
Around the ancient, rotting rails. 

A slender streamlet shivers through 
The tall, strong grass and glides along 

To seaward with such silence you 
Hear but the echo of a song. 

A few broad sunflowers flaming bright 
Lift from the brambles' woven darks; 

Amid sweet clover, pink and white, 
A poppy flings its glowing sparks. 

Beyond lean lonely alder trees, 
Each slim trunk mottled leopard- wise; 

In deep Hower bells crawl bandit bees 
With belts of gold about their thighs. 



14 



Midwinter in the Northwest. 



Through all the dreary days the cold rains pour, 
And winter's chilling gusts make sullen moan; 

Their outstretched arms the tall pines raise and lower 
As if to silence that deep monotone. 

No song of bird now thrills the solemn wood, 
And save the wailing wind there is no sound; 

Where once the lilies in white beauty stood 

The rotting leaves have robed the sodden ground. 

The slender cedars standing on the height 
Seem bony fingers pointing to the sky; 

The maple trees, ah, what a woeful sight — 
Mere skeletons that ever strive to die! 

I look in vain for glowing sun at morn, 
At evening watch the dark blot out the day 

And greet, mayhap, the old moon, pale and worn, — 
A groping ghost half seen through folds of gray. 



15 



The Cougar* 

m 

He lies in wait where woods are dim 
Low-crouched upon a mossy Hmb, 
While each leaf shakes at sight of him. 

The graceful fawn and timid doe 
Tread down the clover blooms below; 
Two yellow flames his great eyes grow. 

Ah, meek, gray doe and spotted fawn 

You little know as you stroll on 

That he lurks near with daggers drawn! 

And, oh, how sudden is the spring, 
How keen the claws that earthward bring 
The brown-eyed mother shuddering! 

A crimson pool upon the ground, 

A low death wail ; the mournful sound 

Of Aveeping from the firs around. 

A gory feast, with fangs that tear; 
A cluster of tall ferns, from where 
A lone fawn looks in mute despair. 



16 



After the Snowstorm. 



Each tall pine stands in white array, 

A keen north wind goes whistling by, 
The clouds take wing and sail away 

Like huge gray birds across the sky, 
While through the meadow, bleak and cold, 

A stream's black windings I can trace, 
And o'er yon mountain, jagged, bold. 

The full moon shows a frosty face. 



17 



Autumn Days* 



On autumn days in woodland v/ays 

I lie beneath the trees 
And watch the clouds in snowy shrouds 

Drift through the upper seas. 
The leaves of brown come floating down. 

The boughs are blown apart; 
Above my head are blots of red 

From Summer's broken heart. 

Around about the streamlets shout, 

A chipmunk whisks his tail 
And up the pines makes striped lines 

Or darts along a rail, 
While soft and clear I sometimes hear 

A wild bee's dreamy hum, 
The liquid notes from trembling throats 

And yellowhammer's drum. 

The maple old is crowned with gold; 

A torch burns just behind; 
Like finger tips upon my lips 

The touch of balmy wind 
That wanders free o'er gem-set sea 

And sweetest perfume brings; 
I catch below a flash of snow — 

A seagull's gleaming wings. 



IS 



#■' 



From out the deep the salmon leap 

All clad in silver mail, 
And far away across the bay 

I see a coming sail. 
And, oh! how bright that wing of white 

Which wafts my love to me; 
Ah, dearest one, through miles of sun 

I throw a kiss to thee! 



19 



A "Western Sunset* 



We stood upon the clovered hill 

And watched the splendid sun go down 

Behind the old, deserted mill 
And scattered cabins, small and brown. 

Some trees with branches interlaced 
Were clustered near a shadowed pond; 

Each slender twig was clearly traced 
Against the gorgeous glow beyond. 

A purple streamer in the west 

Was stretched above a bank of snow, 

While saffron clouds had sunk to rest 
In spreading orange fields below. 

Two fleecy shapes did twist and twine 
Until they formed a giant cup, 

Which plunged into a sea of wine 
And, bubbling o'er, was lifted up. 



20 



She pointed to a scarlet bar — 
My sweet companion, young and fair, 

And wondered if the evening star 
Were frightened as it trembled there. 

We lingered long; a cooling breeze 
Came laden with the breath of musk; 

We heard low pipings in the trees, 
And clear notes dropping through the dusk. 



a. 



The Poet* 



The poet sang his joyous songs; 

Men heard them not; no word of praise 
Ere reached the singer's ear; no hand 

Ere smoothed the rugged ways. 

Too soon his young soul sought the stars; 

From out Time's palm the ages rolled, 
And, lo, for each rose on his grave 

Men yield their treasured gold! 



22 



Dead Man^s Island: Puget Sound. 



A dot of land, a rugged shore, 
A flock of birds, a crooked tree, 

Huge piles of rock where often roar 
The deep-voiced breakers of the sea. 

A ledge of sandstone gray and rough, 
A winding trail, some weeds, and then 

Two mounds of earth upon a blufif — 
Neglected graves of shipwrecked men. 

A stormy night, a vessel lost. 

White-crested waves that roll and reach, 
Two helpless creatures wildly tossed, 

Two sailors dying on the beach. 

And ever since a curse, a prayer. 
Unearthly moans and fiendish cries, 

Two figures groping here and there. 
Two faces pale with hollow eyes. 



23 



Mid-summen 



From crowded street and ceaseless din 
To summer's leafy woods we turn, 

And hear the brown thrush trill within 
The twilight deeps of tousled fern. 

Between dark shores of pine and fir 

The merry river leaps along — 
A clear-voiced poet — wanderer 

From out the mystic realm of Song. 

The air hangs thick with rich perfumes, 
Warm woodland odors, scents of musk; 

Tall lilies drowse in bramble glooms 
And glimmer through a dream of dusk. 

Where one frail branch slow sways and swings 
From shade to sunshine can be seen 

A scolding jay's bright, burnished wings — 
Two sapphire fiames amid the green. 



24 



We catch a glimpse from where we lie 
Of nesting bird above, and higher 

Of hlting, yellow butterfly 
That flickers like a dying fire. 

Oh, summer hours how swift thy flight! 

Oh, love how dear those words of thine! 
Two fond eyes beam with misty light; 

Two rose-red lips are pressed to mine. 



25 



To a Bee* 

m 

Belted thief with amber wing 
Rifling, while you softly sing 
Every rose within the glade; 
Robbing, while you serenade 
Each warm-hearted, modest flower. 
Blushing through the summer hour; 
Blushing at your kisses bold, 
Bandit, in your suit of gold; 
Flattered that you seem so true. 
That a knight has come to woo — 
Ah, a gay deceiver, you! 



26 



Storm in the Forest, 



A low, deep roar like that of far-off seas 
When up sheer cliffs they strive to clamber higher, 

Dark clouds fast driven over gloom-hung trees 
And maddened by the lightning's lash of fire. 

A rush of wind, loud breathing of the pines, 
A shrieking bird in wild, bewildered flight. 

Big drops of rain that fall in slanting lines — 
Long lances gleaming from a wall of night. 

A thousand twigs torn from the maple's hold. 
The fir down-beaten, woeful cries of grief. 

Wide-spreading maples robbed of all their gold 
With wrenched limbs reaching for the last red leaf. 

The thunder's jar amid unearthly moans, 
A quick, sharp crash above the raging blast. 

Shrill pipings mingled with appalling groans 
And black, uncertain shapes blown swiftly past. 



27 



A swollen streamlet tearing madly by, 

The broken boughs in dire confusion hurled, 

A riven forest and a clearing sky, 

The round sun flaming on a flooded world! 



28 



The SeagfuIL 

A ceaseless rover, waif of many climes, 

He scorns the tempest, greets the Hfting sun 

With wings that fling the light and sinks at times 
To ride in triumph where the tall waves run. 

The rocks tide-worn, the high cliiTf brown and bare 
And crags of bleak, strange shores he rests upon; 

He floats above, a moment hangs in air 

Clean-etched against the broad, gold breast of dawn. 

When wild, strong billows reach in fiercest might 
To clutch the gems that fire the midnight sky, 

When anger turns the ocean's face to white, 
Then sounds afar his shrill, exultant cry. 

Bold haunter of the deep! Of thy swift flights 
What of them all brings keenest joy to thee, 

To drive sharp pinions through storm-beaten nights 
Or shriek amid black hollows of the sea? 



Sommcr Hours* 



Sweet, summer hours on mild Pacific's shore, 
Long, golden hours beside the western sea. 

Ah, would that I again might live them o'er; 
Those days of ecstasy! 

I hear once more the gull's triumphant screech, 
And see our white tents glimmer in the sun. 

And far beyond the gleaming curve of beach 
Where foam-fiecked breakers run. 

I feel the pressure of her tender hand, 
I drink the beauty of her hazel eyes 

As we together tread the hard, brown sand 
Beneath deep, sapphire skies. 

To her the crowding billows rise and bow 
And passion-fraught their pulses wildly beat, 

Like frenzied lovers they advance and now 
Fall prostrate at her feet. 



30 



The creeping tide comes in across the reef, 
To landward drifts the fine, uprising spray. 

The clifT's one pine tree, moaning as with grief, 
Is wrapped in shrouds of gray. 

We breathe the fragrance of the evening air, 
And watch the red sun sinking to his rest 

The while the startled waters flame and flare 
Against the glowing west. 

We sit within the blazing driftwood's glow 
And listen to gray ocean's mournful tone, 

We gaze enchanted as the surges throw 
White fire on crag and stone. 

Ne'er will my memory lose those haunting seas, 
That wave-born music crashingthrough the night, 

The long-lashed stars, Pacific's balmy breeze, 
Nor breaker's wall of light! 



31 



Evening: on the Ranch* 



The sunshine gilds the moss-robed roofs 
And glares upon the window panes; 

By twos and threes the lazy herd 

Strolls down the winding, dusty lanes. 

The flushed sun sinks; the gold-blurred west 
Shows dimly through the maple boughs; 

The stars flame out; within their stalls 
The wearied oxen dream and drowse. 

Like some huge ship with hull afire 
The crescent moon in vast, wild seas 

Of somber pine slow settles down 
And burns the black tops of the trees. 

A sudden silence, deep, profound, 

Steals through the wan, uncertain light, 

And now one lone frog's flageolet 
Rings clear across the falling night. 



32 



In May. 



The lavish sun sifts all his gold 

Upon the hills to-day; 
The snowy lilies star the dusk 

In every woodland way; 
The pilgrim breakers on the shore 

Are kneeling now to pray. 

The robin's flute rings sweet and strong 

From out the maple tree; 
The gray grouse seeks the cedar's shade 

And beats his drum for me; 
The joyous meadow-lark flings down 

A haunting melody. 

The dog-wood blooms are round and white 

Each like a glowing moon; 
The west wind strikes the great pine-harps 

And finds them all in tune; 
A bluebird flashes by whose wings 

Have brushed the skies of June. 



33 



The Songf of the Lark. 



The towering fir is bathed in dew. 

And countless gems are chnging there; 
A joyous lark amid the blue 

Sends rippling music down the air, 
And when on boughs that droop apart 

Each bead of crystal pulses bright 
His song has touched the dewdrop's heart 

And made it quiver with delight. 



34 



November. 



The chill wind blows across the hills, 
Dead leaves are whirling down, 

The earth now wears a rustling robe 
Of crimson and of brown. 

Broad maples wave their naked arms 
Like phantoms to and fro, 

The sky looks gray — I almost see 
December's coming snow. 



35 



The Deserted Cabin, 



Tall thistles grow about the door, 
And up and down the mouldy wall, 
Through rotten wood, black spiders crawl; 
Across its roof the chipmunks run, 
The chinks let in the dying sun 
Who lays his red swords on the floor; 
But hark! A dismal autumn blast 
Sweeps up the gulch and 'round ap st 
The cabin, — now a sudden moan 
Within the chimney's mouth of stone, 
Vvhile on the hearth the blackened brands 
Are touched, are moved by unseen hands. 



SG 



The Blue Heron, 



Oi homely form and solemn mien, 
With dagger beak and legs so slim 

One thinks of him as visions seen 
In olden dreams, now vague and dim. 

With lifted head and searching eye, 
In uniform of blue and gray, 

He watches from the tree top high — 
The sentinel of cove and bay. 

And oft as twilight blurs the sea 
I n.ark his flight along the shore, 

A strange shape winging cautiously, 
A fleeting shadow — nothing: more. 



37 



Where Solitude Abides* 



Alone it stands beside the western sea; 
The hands of Time have laid a robe of green 
Upon its roof; in each deserted room 
The gathered mould of many years is seen, 
And spiders, black and hairy, weave and weave 
Round, w^ondrous webs like magic nets of light; 
Within the walls and o'er the sounding floors 
The shy mice scurry in the silent night. 
And dart across those wan and wavering lines 
The moon pours through the window's wreath of 
vines. 

Deserted is the place; the orchard trees 
Neglected; close against the creaking door 
Dry weeds are clustered, and the passing gust 
Snow flakes of drifting thistle-down; no more 
Bright roses bloom along the garden path 
Nor lift their burning petals to the sun; 
The straggling, scarlet briars have overgrown 
The narrow way; the dingy gate no one 
Now enters; in deep grass the slim stream hides 
And speaks no word where Solitude abides. 



38 



December* 



Heaps of leaves on the wet earth lying, 
Dead ferns robing the rocky hill, 

Fallow field and tall fir sighing, 
Barren boughs that are never still. 

Flocks of crows in the woodland cawing, 
Wind-wound grass where the creek goes by. 

Over the waters the wild ducks drawing 
Long black lines on the leaden sky. 

Pale seas sobbing on ragged reaches, — 
Sorrowful mourners bowed in prayer — 

Wide-winged gulls with sharp, shrill screeches 
Piercing like poniards the misty air. 

Bleak, chill night and drear rain falling, 

Cheerless morn all clad in gray. 
Only the weary south wind calling. 

Only the loon on the lonely bay. 



S8 



Copalis. 



High above the strong Pacific rising solemnly and 
lone 

Looms the rugged rock, Copalis, like a mountain 
built of stone. 

Break the heavy waves against it, roaring through 
its caverns wide, 

Caverns worn by maddened waters and the moon- 
enchanted tide. 

All around are curling breakers, sifting spray and 
flying foam, 

Where the slim sea otter gambols and the gray gull 
has a home. 

All around is fierce commotion, pale forms reach- 
ing toward the skies, 

Sounds of awful cannonading, haunting moans and 
battle cries. 

Clinging to its craggy summit, fastened down with 
massive chains. 

Bathed in Summer's yellow sunshine, drenched in 
Winter's driving rains, 



40 



Rests a low, quaint hut, the dwelling of the brave 

Copalis Jim, 
Rests the hut whose door is opened— opened never 

save by him. 
From this airy habitation keen black eyes peer on 

the seas, 
Raven locks are tossed and tangled in the sighing 

ocean breeze. 
Night and morn he scans the billows marching 

grandly far below, 
Night and morn he sees them lifting bristling peaks 

all white with snow. 
Day by day he keeps his vigil caring naught for 

any man, 
Watching ever with the patience that the otter- 
hunter can. 
Oft his swarthy face grows eager, oft his rifle darts 

its f^ame 
And a dying creature struggles from that quick, 

unerring aim. 
Oft when midnight winds are calling in his mind 

sad thoughts arise. 
Thoughts of her who held him captive by the 
magic of her eves. 



41 



In his dreams she stands before him as she stood 

in days agone 
Ere his heart had grown more hardened than the 

rock he dwells upon, 
And he hears her laughter ringing like the echoes 

of a lute 
Through the forest still and sombre, down the vales 

of Quillayute, 
And again he sits beside her speaking tender 

words of love 
With the fragrant flowers surrounding and the 

waving green above. 
But the thunder of the breakers and the sea bird's 

piercing scream 
From the ledges, brown and jagged, break the 

vision of his dream. 
Ah! Nawanda, false Nawanda, with your artless 

maiden grace. 
Think you never of your lover living in this lonely 

place? — 
He whose fondest hope was shattered, now a her- 
mit, mute, alone, 
Far away on bleak Copalis, on a mountain built 

of stone. 



42 



In January, 



To-day a pall obscures the sky, 
And loudly beats the chilling rain, 

The seas grow tall, the foam flies high, 
The crags along the shore complain. 

A wild gust bends the great fir tops. 
The cedar moans, the hemlock grieves, 

A maple shakes down cold, clear drops 
And drowns the fire of fallen leaves. 



*9 



The Wreck of the Ferndale* 



Hoarse with calling, pale with anger, 

From dim dawn till set of sun 
Wind-blown billows crowding landward 

Shook the shores of Washington. 

Stalwart seas tramped down the beaches, 
Giant seas each thunder-toned 

Lunged against the rugged headlands, 
While the mighty caverns groaned. 

Roared along the sandy reaches, 

Foaming, panting in the race, 
Struck the cliff's opposing ledges, 

Leaped to smite its massive face. 

Leaped and flung their white arms wildly, 
Then all baffled backward fled, 

Moaning, sobbing on the shingle 
Like a mother o'er her dead. 



44 



Night fell black upon the waters, 

Night with no star throbbing through; 

Fiercer yet the waters battled. 
Stronger still the cold wind blew. 

Every pine upon the hilltop 
Cried in anguish, cried in vain, 

And the ranchman's wife peered seaward 
With her face against the pane. 

Heard the waves' loud cannonading, 
Saw at times a lifting light — 

Fiery soul of sky-tossed breaker 
Burning through the raven night. 

Listened sadly at the window 

Thinking of the ships at sea, 
Of wrecked sailors drifting helpless, 

And the Storm-king's fiendish glee. 

Hark! What sound above the breakers — 

Was it but the sudden shock 
Of a seething sea bombarding 

Towering battlements of rock? 



45 



Was it but the crashing thunder 

Of a fir tree's rugged form, 
Of a fir tree that had fallen 

As it wrestled with the storm? 

No, ah, no! Again the gun spoke 
And the ranchman's wife grew pale; 
" God have mercy on a vessel 

Driven shoreward by the gale!" 

*' God above have mercy on them! 
He alone can still the waves!" 
" Hear them calling!" " They will perish!" 
" How the ocean roars and raves!" 

Thus spake trembling, care-worn women, 
Sturdy ranchmen, young and old, 

As they gathered on the North Beach 
In the darkness and the cold. 

All the night their lanterns glimmered 
In the wild wind's icy breath, 

While the surf grew thick with cordage, 
And the breakers talked of death. 



46 



All the night they watched and waited 
Where the hoary foam-flakes flew* 

One by one along the North Beach 
Drifted in the Ferndale's crew. 

One by one they drifted lifeless 

To the bleak Pacific sands, 
Salt tears on their pallid faces, 

Sea-weeds in their hardened hands. 

Eyes of pity looked upon them, 
Looked upon them where they lay 

As the morn came softly stealing — 
Sad lened m irn in robe of gray. 



47 



Autumn Song. 



Flowers have flown from hill and hollow, 
And the world is saddened now; 

Chill winds lead and dead leaves follow, 
Empty nest and barren bough. 

Rusted grass the gusts entangle. 
Loudly pipe the orchard trees; 

All the day the white gulls wrangle 
In the spray of sullen seas. 

All the day the waves are breaking 
On the shore with sob and sigh; 

Birds their southward flight are taking 
Underneath a leaden sky. 

Gone the summer's golden weather, 
Gone the shaded woodland ways; 

Song and blossom die together, 
In the drear November days. 



4& 



The Woods of the West, 



Oh, woods of the west, leafy woods that I love, 

Where through the long days I have heard 
The prayer of the wind in the branches above 

And the tremulous song of the bird, 
Where the clustering blooms of the dog-wood 
hang o'er — 

White stars in the dusk of the pine. 
And down the dim aisles of the old forest pour 

The sunbeams that melt into wine! 

Oh, woods of the west, how oft to your shade 

Have I come in the hot August hours. 
And trod the green mantle lone Solitude laid 

Through the deeps of your night-haunted bowers, 
And lingering beside the pure, crystalline streams — 

Those poets that rhyme as they run, 
And watched in the shallows the silvery gleams 

Of the minnows in meshes of sun! 

Oh, woods of the west, I am sighing to-day 

For the sea-songs your voices repeat, 
For the evergreen glades, for the glades far away 

From the stifling air of the street. 
And I long, ah, I long to be with you again 

And to dream in that region of rest, 
Forever apart from this warring of men — 

Oh, wonderful woods of the west! 

49 



The Dawn of Christmas Day. 

m 

The winds are dead, and ah, how still! 
The stars are large; a silver blade 
Yon homeward sailing moon has made 

Upon the somber, wooded hill. 

The towering fir trees breathe a prayer, 
And lo, each white star hides away 
Behind a fallen robe of gray, 

And bird notes thrill the morning air! 

An overflowing cup of wine 

Is slowly lifting in the east; 

Awake, oh, man, to Beauty's feast, 
The glory of the sky is thine! 

And now from peaks that flash and gleam 
The golden light of dawn is hurled 
Across the rugged, western world, 

And drenches hill and vale and stream. 



50 



Oh, hallowed day when Christ was born 
Bring sweetest peace to everyone; 
From land of snow to land of sun 

Let love prevail on Christmas morn! 



51 



Long; Ago* 



Oh, that I r.gain could be 
Down there by that peaceful sea, 
Down there where I used to go 
In the summers long ago! 
You are gone, my boyhood's mate, 
You who met me at the gate 
Nevermore will say, " Come, Joe, 
Follow me and I will show 
Sweetest roses, fresh and gay. 
Purple pansies, new-mown hay, 
Lovely apples, blushing red. 
Big pears, larger than your head!" 
Nevermore will we go through 
Fields of clover, where the dew 
Fell like tiny globes of light 
From the blooms of pink and white; 



52 



Nevermore at golden noon 

Listen to the robin's tune 

Thrill the very heart of June. 

Ah, how happy were we two, 

What a merry maiden you, 

Romping under azure skies 

With flushed cheeks and laughing eyes, 

And I thought your blowing hair 

Had, within its silken snare, 

Caught the fringes of the pall 

That the night throws over all! 

I remember how you ran 

With a " beat me if you can!" 

Out to where the ebbing tide 

Left the beach so cool and wide; 

How we gathered brown seaweeds, 

Pearly shells and floating reeds, 

And with chubby little hand 

Wrote my name upon the sand; 

How we watched o'er waters blue 

Distant sails fade from our view 

While you cried in glee, " I know 

They are melting flakes' of snow!" 



63 



Then, when joyous day was done, 
And the slowly sinking sun 
Lifted broad, bright bars of gold 
From beneath the maples old, 
And the pale stars faintly gleamed- 
Silver dots to us they seemed — 
You would sometimes almost cry 
As I said, " Well, Floss, good-by." 
You are dead and I am gray, 
Coldly pipes the wind to-day 
As I sit and wonder still 
If the orchard on the hill 
Looks the same, and if the lawn 
Is the one we played upon, 
And if on your distant grave 
Flowers grow and grasses wave, 
And the robin chirps to you 
Just the way he used to do. 



M 



Morningf. 



Asleep lie the waves on the black, winding beaches, 
The peaks to the west are dim shadows afar, 

A gull drifts high over; the dreamy dawn reaches 
A wan, holy hand to the pale morning star. 

The deep woodland thrills to the song of the thrushes; 

Now comes the fair Morn with a rose on her breast, 
While the great Sea awakens and trembles and blushes. 

Then dons a gold garment to welcome his guest. 



55 



The Derelict, 



I am rolled and swung, I am rocked and flung, 
I am hammered and heaved and hurled, 

I am tossed and wheeled, I am blown and reeled, 
And battered about the world. 

On the pushing tide I ride and ride. 

Or loiter and loaf at ease, 
With never a care, though foul or fair, 

I follow^ tlie foamy seas. 

Men come not nigh when they pass me by. 

For they fear me, everyone. 
As I cleave the gray of the dawaiing day, 

Or drov/se in the summer sun. 

Past unknown isles, for miles and miles, 

I wander av/ay to where 
The iceberg lifts and the salt spray drifts 

In the freezing arctic air. 



56 



I steal by the bars when the flame-winged stars 
Have swarmed in the upper blue, 

And the glow and shine of the drenching brine 
Like white fire burns me through. 

I haunt as a ghost the rock-girt coast 
Where the bell-buoy loudly rings, 

And the breakers leap to the mighty sweep 
Of the night wind's sable wings. 

I shake and moan, I creak and groan, 

In the wrathful tempest when 
The old Sea raves and digs deep graves 

For the jolly sailor men. 

What matters time or what the clime 

To a vagrant of the sea? 
To live or die, oh, naught care I, 

There is no port for me! 



57 



Love and L 



She was my own, was all my own, 
I loved her in an unknown land. 

She rained warm kisses on my brow, 
And o'er the shining, dimpled sand 
We went together, hand in hand. 

And watched the pale waves rise and bow. 

All nature seemed to worship her; 
The sea's great heart would beat and beat 

If she but danced along the shore; 
The strolling sun laid at her feet 
His rich red robe, and loud and sweet 

The birds sang to her evermore. 

I thought her love for me was true, 
She was so good, she was so fair; 

I drank her beauty day by day; 
A gleam of snow — a bosom bare 
Shone through her tangled, tVN'ilight hair; 

I loved her more than I can say. 

Alas! her brown eyes changed to green, 
Each glance was like a piercing dart; 

I silent stood; I could but stare, 
While freezing fingers clutched my heart; 
She raised an arm, '* We now must part; 

I'm Love," quoth she, " henceforth beware!" 



68 



SONNETS. 



One Autumn Nights 



Can I forget that glorious, autumn night 
So full of joyous pain when you and I 
Stood on the shore beneath a cloudless sky 

And watched the moon, all drenched with holy light, 

Sail slowly up and toss a veil of white 
Across the heaving sea? — when waves rode by 
And pressed broad palms upon the rocks, to try 

And bear away the rough stone from our sight? 

Ah, no! 'Twas then I spoke to you of love; 
My secret which you long ere that had guessed; 
'Twas then I first knew passion's fiery heat 

And kissed your cheek, your lips, while high above 
A great star shook and in its burning breast, 
As in my own, a red heart beat and beat. 



61 



By the Pacific. 



From this quaint cabin window I can see 
The strange, vague line of ghostly driftwood, though 
No ray of silver moon or soft star glow 

Steals through the summer night's solemnity. 

Pale forms drive landward and wild figures flee 
Like spectres up the shore; I hear the slow, 
Firm tread of marching billows which I know 

Will walk beside the years that are to be. 

Sweet, gentle sleep is banished from mine eyes, 
I lie and think of wrecks until the sobs 
And groans of drowning sailors lost at sea 

Come mingled with the gray gulls' plaintive cries 
And those tumultuous, incessant throbs — 
The heavy heart-beats of Eternity. 



62 



A Picture. 



A low-roofed cottage, and beyond a pine, 
Whose poet-heart knows naught but melody; 
A green lawn sloping to a placid sea 

All sunset flushed; a brook that draws a line 

Of silver where gold poppy petals shine 
Amid pink clover blooms; a maple tree — 
A cloud of green that hovers silently 

Above a sweet-breathed honeysuckle vine 

Along an ambling fence; a little gate. 
And she in maiden beauty standing there, 

The pure, young face half ringed with raven 
night; 

The soft, pink cheeks and burning lips that wait 
My coming, and the dusky eyes turned where 
A gray road wavers through the waning light. 



63 



The Cyclone^ 



The child of Horror and wild Wrath am I, 
A creature that loves ruin and despair; 
My loins are girt with Fury, and I wear 

The robe of Night; to seize fair homes, to try 

My power upon the haunts of men is my 

Delight; the huge veins in my black breast glare 
With flame and passion while I onward bear 

An hundred souls across the shaking sky. 

Ah, when with thunder voice I earthward come 
Pale women shrink and shudder; at the sight 
Of my dark form the bravest holds his breath; 

My awful majesty strikes all things dumb 
As on the rough round of the world I write 
The terrorizing signature of Death. 



64 



Night in Camp, 



Fierce burns our fire of driftwood; overhead 
Gaunt maples lift long arms against the night; 
The stars are sobbing, — sorrow-shaken, white, 

And high they hang, or show sad eyes grown red 

With weeping for their queen, — the moon, just dead. 
Black shadows backward reel when tall and bright 
The broad flames stand and fling a golden light 

On mats of soft green moss around us spread. 

A sudden breeze comes in from off the sea. 
The vast, old forest draws a troubled breath, 
A leaf awakens; up the shore of sand 

The slow tide, silver-lipped, creeps noiselessly; 
The campfire dies; then silence deep as death; 
The darkness pushing down upon the land. 



65 



Morning in Camp* 



A bed of ashes and a half-burned brand 

Now mark the spot where last night's campfire sprung 
And licked the dark with slender, scarlet tongue; 
The sea draws back from shores of yellow sand 
Nor speaks lest he awakes the sleeping land. 
Tall trees grow out of shadows; high among 
Their somber boughs one clear, sweet song is sung, 
In deep ravine by drooping cedars spanned 
All drowned in gloom, a flying pheasant's whirr 
Rends morning's solemn hush; gray rabbits run 
Across the clovered glade, while far away 
Upon the hills each huge, expectant fir 
Holds open arms in welcome to the sun — 
Great, pulsing heart of bold, advancing day! 



Alone Upon the Mountain Side* 



Alone upon the mountain side — alone 
In Solitude's wide realm, where no 
Sound enters save at intervals the low, 
Deep roar of avalanche; huge walls of stone 
The mighty hand of God has overthrown 
As He builds high his pyramid of snow — 
His stairway to the stars; alone I go 
Across a white, white world that ne'er has known 
The taint of earth; and now I see far down 
The dreaming pines; I see an eagle sweep 
Athwart the blue; a gleaming river bind 
In gorgeous braid the valley's golden gown; 
A cataract plunge o'er the distant steep 
And flutter like a ribbon in the wind. 



67 



Dawn on Puppet Sound. 



The wooded hill against the sky's pale glow 
Looms huge and black; the stars fade from my sight- 
Those trembling tear-drops of the mourner Night; 
The sea is gray; a gull on wings of snow 
Drifts noiselessly; all things are hushed as though 
In wonder at God's mystery of light; 
Above the peaks the sky grows strangely white; 
Somewhere a bird from sudden overflow 
Of joy bursts into song — a strain so fine 
Each leaf is tingling with the melody; 
The east has hints of gold; the night is gone; 
The dimpled tide is flushed with dreams of wine, 
And, lo, in gorgeous splendor smiles the sea 
Beneath the pink feet of the new-born Dawn! 



Noon on Pugfet Sound* 



The sea is like a sapphire in the glare 

Of noon — the pulsing, gleaming sea that lies 
Between tall peaks, beneath deep violet skies; 
The gulls in silver clouds drift down the air, 
And on my brow, pure as a maiden's prayer, 
The cool wind lingers; now a gray grouse tries 
His muilled drum amid the firs that rise 
Above the pebbled shore, and here and there 
The salmon flash their sabers in the sun; 

A fisher's dingy boat slow drowses through 
The opal waters, and far ofif a white 
Sail shimmers in the haze; clear streamlets run 
From slopes of emerald and kiss the blue 
On beaches that are dazzling lanes of light. 



69 



Evening on Paget Sounds 



His crimson sword the dying sun lets fall 
Across the sea and all the water glows 
With sudden splendor — one great flaming rose; 
The peaks burst into bloom; each icy wall 
Is bathed in fire; each fir, green-robed and tall, 
Is now a golden tower; a cool wind blows 
From off the chaste Olympics' shadowed snows; 
Far, far away a loon's long, quavering call 
Sounds faintly in the restful, twilight air; 
The sweet dusk deepens and majestic Night — 
Mother of dreams and sleep — sinks silently 
Upon the land; the tide steals in and where 
The ripples dance I watch the red stars write 
In fiery lines God's message to the sea. 



70 



The Pioneen 



Oh, staunch path-finder! Grizzled pioneer! 

Your brown, thick-furrowed face has known the heat 

Of sun-scorched plain and felt the stinging sleet 
On mountain peaks. Yet ever of good cheer 
You toiled, though lean, pale Hunger came so near 

You heard the tread of his approaching feet; 

Dark-browed Despair you sometimes downward beat 
And stood above the prostrate form of Fear. 
I count you as a soldier brave and true; 

A hero loved of heroes, whose strong hand 
Upheld the flag of Progress to the skies; 
Who suffered patiently and never knew 

Defeat, and who within a wild, weird land 

Did strike the blow that bade a new world rise. 



71 



To the Sea^ 



I ne'er can say, oh, ancient, wrinkled Sea! 

In what one mood of yours I love you most — 
Gray pilgrim slowly plodding down the coast; 

At times, I think you are most dear to me 

When you have wedded Calm, or v/hen, maybe, 
Like some grim conqueror of old you boast 
In kingly pride your mighty, maddened host 

That jars the world with its white cavalry. 

Again, I stand enraptured when in nights 

Of storm you are awakened from your dreams 
And let each foaming, untamed charger free, 

When fire of crashing cannon weirdly lights 

Earth's rock-built battlements — oh, then it seems 
That you are even more than Majesty! 



72 



If She Should Die* 



If she should die — the thought of utter gloom 
And untold grief through all my years is this. 
I shudder, God! What loneliness to miss 

Her loving presence from our cosy room 

And know within a damp and darkened tomb 
There lies the heart I draw in rapturous bliss 
Against my own; the tender cheek I kiss 

Whereon a crimson flower is now in bloom. 

Each bird would follow in her spirit's flight, 
At break of dawn the rose shed tears of woe 
Its trembling lips held upward to the sky, 

A star in heaven shine with such a light 
'Twould be a marvel to the world below, — 
If she should die — if my loved one should die. 



73 



Cuba, iS97. 



O God, that I might breathe of Freedom's airt 
Alone I weep to-day — alone, forlorn — 
Twin sister of pale Sorrow, wan and worn; 

Low, low I kneel with dark, disheveled hair; 

My noblest, bravest sons lie starving where 
Grim Morro looms on high; my flesh is torn 
And bleeding from the tyrant's lash; I mourn 

My children slain; I cry in my despair 

For some protecting arm, some flashing sword 
Upraised in my defense; I cry, and yet 

All lands stand dumb and will not answer me; 

How long ere my deep prayer be heard, O Lord? 
How long ere my bruised feet be firmly set 
Upon the radiant peak of Liberty? 



74 



Since She is Gone* 



Since she is gone the moments pass me by 
So slow — so slow it often seems to me 
Gray Time has grown so very old that he 

Moves like a palsied man about to die. 

Through all the black hours of the night I lie 
Vv^ith empt}'' arms and hearken to the sea 
Along the barren shore moan wearily, 

And hear the homeless wind make sad reply. 

Once more upon my brow I long to feel 
The fire of her red lips that thrilled me through; 
To see her warm, white bosom fall and rise 

And all the passion of her soul reveal, 
And look, O God, and look again into 

The deep blue heaven of her lustrous eyes! 



75 



The Silent Woods. 



The lone abode of Twilight and Repose 
Is this deep forest of mj^ western land; 
In the eternal hush the slim ferns stand; 

Above, the cedar and the hemlock doze 

In velvet robes of green the dank moss throws 
From massive bough to bough: on either hand 
Time's drapery shrouds all and weirdly grand 

Are these dim aisles the sunshine never knows. 

The frail, white lilies glimmer in the gloom 
Like feeble stars within the thicket's night, 

Or slender tapers which the wood-nymphs keep 

Faint-burning in each close, dusk-haunted room 

That their wan glow, perchance, may serve to light 
The feet of Silence through the halls of Sleep. 



76 



The Fall of the Fir* 



A sudden shudder of each limb; a cry 
Of agony, and downward to his fate 
The giant rushes with the hiss of Hate; 
A lone, white star is shaken from the high 
Dark boughs that sweep across the twilight sky; 
With bated breath the stalwart woodsmen wait; 
And now a mighty roar as when a great, 
Foam-crested sea, heart-broken, comes to die 
Upon the crags, or when the Storm-king swings 
His lash of flame: an avalanche of sound 
That stirs the ancient solitude until 
The whole earth trembles and mute Silence flings 
Her shattered form upon the shaking ground, 
And frighted Echo flees from hill to hill. 



77 



The Fishermen: Puget Sound. 



To-day my inland, fir-enshadowed sea 
In such untroubled slumber lies below 
The fire-iilled dome of azure that her slow, 

Soft breathing scarce breaks the tranquillity 

Of her broad, burnished breast. There comes to me 
From where the beach gleams like a drift of snow 
High flung against a v/all of green, the low 

Caressing tongue of far-off Italy, 

And through dark boughs I see strong fishermen, 
Black-browed and swarthy, toiling with all might 
At dripping net; I see the flash of oar, 

That silvered mass imprisoned there, 

And then a sudden flood of vivid, burning light 
Poured out upon the slanting, sandy shore. 



79 



June* 



The peerless skies of June bend over me, 
And, ah, what happiness the queen month brings! 
The balmy air is full of whirring wings; 

The clover blooms are white on hill and lea, 

And to the nodding rose the bumble-bee 
Repeats his confidential mumblings, 
While in the dusky dell the wood-thrush sings 

A song so sweet 'twould gladden Ecstasy; 

And, oh, the joy I feel to lie, care-free, 

Beneath broad maples that the robins love. 
Within the sound of rhyming, silver streams. 

And watch the butterfly lilt drowsily 

From flower to flower, and faintly hear, above, 
The lisp of leaves like echoes heard in dreams! 



79 



Haunted. 



Along its edge stand tall, rust-colored weeds 
Through which green snakes and slimy lizards glide; 
Amid the tufts of grass black beetles hide, 

And frogs blow bugles in the rustling reeds. 

From tangled sedge the timid wild fowl leads 
Her little brood, and quietly they ride 
Among the murky pools, while down beside 

A rotting log the watchful heron feeds. 

When flying clouds obscure a bent, old moon 

Strange sounds are heard — a low, distressing cry; 
A sob; a moan; the rushes shake with fright; 

A sudden deathly silence falls, and soon 
A ghostly maiden figure hurries by, 

Whose wild eyes glow with weird, unearthly light. 



80 



On the Marsh. 



Beneath a dark and brooding winter's sky 
The somber, melancholy marsh to-day 
Lies desolate, wind-ridden, drear and gray; 

Amid the rusty reeds the sea-birds cry; 

The tawny, swirling river loiters by 

Dwarf willows and in silence winds away 
Across bleak levels to the foamy bay; 

Above, with whistling wings the swift teal fly 

To murky pools among the woven grass; 
The geese call from the clouds; a veil of rain 
Now dims the distance, and the chill gusts make 

Shrill pipings in the rushes as they pass. 
And mo^n along the waste as if in pain, 
Or hiss through tangled tules like a snake. 



SI 



QUATRAINS. 



Mount Rainier* 



Long hours we toiled up through the solemn wood 
Beneath moss-banners stretched from tree to tree; 

At last upon a barren hill we stood 
And, lo, above loomed Majesty! 



85 



Custer* 



When dashing, gallant Custer fell he gave 
The world a shining name Time cannot dim; 

He was a soldier so intensely brave 
That even Courage paled to follow him. 



86 



Moonrise* 



A beaming, patient, peaceful face 
The moon now lifts above the sea; 

Across the waves with maiden grace 
Her white, jeweled arm falls languidly. 



A Sea Picture^ 



A level sand beach stretching far away, 
And flecked with shells like fallen flakes of snow, 

And in the distance, near the dying day, 
Two figures etched against the a-fterglow. 



Creeds* 



These paths are narrow and on either side 

Loom Superstition's ancient peaks— forsooth 

So high their summits they forever hide 
From groping travelers the light of Truth! 



89 



The West Shore. 



Green leagues of wood and red rose bowers 
With yellow sunshine sifting through; 

Tall billows flinging white foam-flowers 
To kingly peaks in skies of blue. 



90 



The Pacific^ 



High in the bending blue the round sun burns, 
And with enraptured eyes we westward look 

To where old Ocean ever turns and turns 
The great, white leaves of his most wondrous book. 



91 



Butterflies. 



Fast dancing flames on twig and bough, 
Bright flakes of sunshine drifting through 

The heavy woodland shadows; now 
Wee, wavering stars against the blue. 



The Thrush, 



Within the thicket's deepest ni:5ht 
He trills so sweetly unto me 

The crystal rain of his delight 
Would captivate fair Melody. 



93 



Along Shore* 



What wondrous sermons these seas preach to men! 

What lofty pinnacles they seek to climb! 
How old and bent they are, yet strong as when 

They rocked the infant Time! 



94 



A Western Forest* 



Dark boughs weighed down with silence; in a dim. 
Cool nook a gray doe and her spotted fawn; 

Above, upon a fir tree's massive limb, 
A crouching cougar with keen daggers drawn. 



95 



At a Child's Grave. 



It is not dew that gleams so bright 

On these frail flowers 'neath which she sleeps, 
But tears shed by the mourner Night, 

Who ever lingers here and weeps. 



The Birth of the Red Rose^ 



'n the dawn of the world, in God's first morning sun 
Two white-petaled roses bloomed out in the South, 

\nd her hot, crimson lips Passion pressed upon one 
And its heart turned to flame at the fire of her mouth. 



97 



In the Garden* 



The fragrant, red roses bend quivering stems, 

The firefly strikes flame on the tall lily's tongue, 

The sweet clover blossoms wear glittering gems — 
Rare jewels in the veil that the white moon has flung. 



98 



October. 



October is a maiden fair 

With dreamy eyes and drooping head, 
And through her weaUh of misty hair 

Her cheeks are always bhishing red. 



99 



Sunse 



Like some huge bird that sinks to rest 
The sun goes down — a weary thing — 

And o'er the water's placid breast 
It lays a scarlet, outstretched wing. 



100 



^ 



'A. 



^^^?^ 



.^-.-se. 




\ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

iiiiii illil iii'il illi! ISII! iilll !'!'! '!'■' 'I'" ll'l! *m' ii'i >i!i 



018 602 116 2 



